Thursday's Child
by Sourcherry01
Summary: AU Post Eclipse. She spent her life in the shadows and she was ok with that. Life is easier when you don't get involved. Now everything she knows has been shaken up like a snow globe. How long can you keep to the edges without falling off? SethOC.
1. Disillusion Road

**Thursday's Child**

Chapter 1: "_She Lives On Disillusion Road. We Go Where The Wild Blood Flows._" – Razorlight, Wire To Wire.

Rain pitter-pattered against the windscreen as Mom's car wound its way along the tree lined roads of Washington. When the wipers swished by the blurry view cleared and a sign on the side of the road flashed bright in the headlights. The knot of nerves that had settled heavy in my stomach began fluttering once again. I looked across at the tense profile of my Mom's face. She lifted a cigarette to her lips and took a deep drag, blowing the smoke from her nostrils like a dragon. In the dimming light she looked older than her 38 years, blue eyes dulled by years behind a bar serving drunks, hair dried out from too much 'natural golden blonde' hair dye, and bowed shoulders from the burden of raising a child alone.

The radio continued to crackle out some old ballad I didn't know but saw Mom mouthing along the words to. We didn't speak. We had never been chatty, choosing silence over frivolous comments about weather or news, we both had eyes, and we both had ears. But this quietness was different from all the others, heavier, settling between us like a dam against the emotions roaring inside. She hadn't been able to look me in the eye since Eric gave her his ultimatum: 'The Kid or Me'. That detachment was enough of an answer.

* * *

Eric was the latest in a long line of deadbeat boyfriends my Mom managed to pick up from the gutters and tempt into our home. When my Mom fell she fell hard. I didn't usually mind because eventually she would hit the ground, and hit it like the force of a space shuttle returning to earth. Then who ever it was emptying our fridge and crashing on our couch would be kicked out in a blazing row about why they never helped and how she wanted all her money back. She never got a penny from any of them, but that didn't matter, they were gone.

Mom would curl up in her bed, curtains drawn, with only the firefly glow of her cigarettes as lighting. I would creep about the house trying not to disturb her, eating anything without a crunch or wrappers that crackled. I unplugged the phone so that the shrill ring of work calling to check up didn't wake her.

Once, when I was 8 I came home from school to find her crumpled on the bathroom floor surrounded by her own vomit. She had drunk so much that she passed out. I had dragged her back into her room, washed the sick away, and forced water and bread into her stomach, waiting with her until she began to sober up. I skipped school to keep an eye on her after that, though she promised it was a one off.

This time, months later, when all the others usually moved on to pastures new Eric showed no signs of going anywhere. He 'loved' her, brought her gifts – stuffed bears from the gas station, and told her she was 'the only woman to ever make me feel this way'. At night I heard him whispering promises of providing a better life for her, of job opportunities for him back east, for them both. How a friend of a friend knew a guy who could get them a decent apartment, cheap rent, fully furnished. It all sounded out of this world to a woman who spent the best years of her life changing diapers and cleaning a beer soaked bar, an oasis in her desert.

There was one flaw in the plan – Eric was not about to raise another man's bastard. And I was that bastard.

* * *

Through the misty afternoon gloom I peered at the passing shops as we carried on down the main street of this damp Pacific Northwest town. It was a far cry from my home back in Nevada with its dusty streets and bare mountainsides.

There were still some brave shoppers cocooned in raincoats darting from one shop into another. A child in a bright yellow coat drifted from his mother, hypnotised by the bright display in a window further along. Before I could blink she swept him back up in her arms, clinging to him tightly. As we passed them by I saw the strain in her face, the fear, and the relief as she told him off.

My eyes searched for something else to focus on, something that didn't twist in my gut like a knife.

"Pass me the address," Mom ordered as we waited at the lights.

I handed it over; a little crumpled from where I had been clutching it and trying not to rip the thing into shreds. She scanned it for the hundredth time and tossed it back to me so she could fiddle with the radio.

"Mom…?"

"Not right now," she snapped.

"It's just that…" I tried again.

"For crying out loud, Annabelle!" She thumped the dashboard with the palm of her hand. "When I say 'not now' I _mean_ 'not now'!" I shut up. Mom had a furious temper when she got riled.

The light changed. Mom pressed on the gas too hard and our wheels screeched on the wet road. "Damn it!" She cursed. "Like I'm not stressed out enough, now _you_ have to start pestering me. I just need to find the damn house!"

Spotting the street a little too late she turned off without indicating and the car behind leaned on his horn as he swerved around us. "Asshole!"

It was a nice street. The kind of street you see in old-fashioned movies with the white picket fence surrounding a perfectly green lawn and a porch held up by columns and a cute golden retriever pestering the mailman. I imagined that when these people woke up their breath didn't stink, and they hardly had to shower, and their boots were never mucky. They would have soft plush carpets in creamy colours with not a hint of a stain marring them. Shoes would be removed in the hallway and neatly lined up.

This was not a place that I belonged in. Not any part of me, ever. Yet as I thought this Mom pulled up outside one of the houses and tugged on the handbrake. She popped her seatbelt but made no move to exit the car. I couldn't look at her. Instead I watched a shadow pass behind the curtains, peacefully unaware of our arrival.

"Look, Annabelle," she sighed. I waited. Her breath puffed out and she closed her eyes tight, hands still gripping the steering wheel. I couldn't look at her face anymore so I focused on those hands, knuckles white, and nails bright pink.

I remembered when she let me paint them for her, how I would read the names on the bottles out loud. They sounded so magical: _White Dream. Sweet Rose. Cherry Crush. _Or dangerous like you could transform into someone else with one swipe of colour: _Red Seduction. Silver Speed. Midnight Affair. _

Another breath in and her hands loosened from the wheel arch. "…Lets go…"

Under the cover of the porch Mom rang the doorbell. I stood next to her with my duffle bag at my feet, beginning to feel something like fear creeping up inside me. I was standing in the middle of a street with a train heading straight for me but my legs were frozen. The lights were blinding me and my heart was racing in fear because I couldn't get out of the way.

Her foot tapped impatiently and I heard her rustling the cigarette packet in her pocket.

Eventually a man whose face was red from wine and warmth answered the door. In the background I could hear the rumble of conversation continuing. Mom had timed this to perfection. He looked us over for a moment his smile fading.

"Can I help you?" He stared at me for a long moment, and then flicked his gaze to Mom.

"Hello, Richard," was all Mom said.

His hand that was still resting on the door pulled it forward preventing us from seeing further into the hallway. "It's Thanksgiving, this can wait."

Shoes sounded down the hallway. "Dad? Who is it?"

Shooting us a wary glance he twisted back towards the newcomer. "Go back to the dinning room, Lauren. It's Oliver with some work for me, I'll just be a minute." He paused, listening to her footsteps as they disappeared.

I took that moment to really look at him. He must have been in his late 50s with a slight belly showing underneath the rich wine coloured sweater he wore. Tall, commanding, I could clearly see this man stood at the head of a table barking out orders to his subordinates. I wondered if he was born with that power or did it develop after years of gruelling work.

Mom was glaring at the man when he turned back to us, and he at her. "Is this some sort of joke, Lori? Because I am warning you right now…"

"This is no joke," Mom cut him off sharply. "I've left you alone for 17 years, not demanded one cent from you so that you could 'protect your family', working days and nights to pay for your child. Now it's your turn."

My father. The description seemed relative. I felt no instant connection, no recognition of where I had come from. He was stranger. A man I could have passed in the street and not given a second glance. Yet, for better or worse he was a part of me and there was no way to change that.

Pushing us backwards he stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind. "I told you I would pay to…" he stumbled over the phrasing, and when he finally got it out I understood why. "Sort **it** all out. But you didn't want to."

"You asshole." Mom hissed.

He looked like he was made of stone, expressionless, a brilliant poker face. I almost believed it. "It was your decision, you live with the consequences."

"It takes two to tango, Richard."

"Why are you here, Lori? My family is in the middle of Thanksgiving lunch. So if you could just tell me how much you want I will write you a check."

Mom laughed. Not a pretty laugh full of joy, a bitter laugh full of cynicism. "That was always your downfall," she said, shaking her head, "you think that if you just scribble out a check every problem will disappear. I don't want your stinking money."

"So what the hell do you want?" He was getting frustrated, his face growing redder by the minute. "You can't just come over here and dump her on my doorstep because after 17 years you've had enough!"

Mom smirked. "Of course I can. That is exactly what I am doing."

"I don't fucking think so, Lori. What, you really think they're going to believe you over me? How do _I _even know that she's my daughter?"

"You want a paternity test? Fine, lets go!" Mom's voice was getting higher the way it did when she started getting really mad.

"This is my life you're playing with you stupid bitch! If they find out it will destroy everything, I'm not just going to let you do that to me." He moved forward and I moved backwards, my heal hitting the edge of the porch step. Mom held her place.

"I'm not 21 anymore," she said in a voice I'd never heard her use before. "I'm not that naïve little receptionist. You can't scare me into silence. I've given you 17 years to come clean. Time is up."

"Get out of here!" he roared, hands clenching into fists by his side. Frightened because I'd seen men like this before and I knew what the ending was, I stumbled off the step, nearly landing in the neatly trimmed box hedge. His eyes shot to me. I froze.

"I want a life. I want the life you took from me." Mom continued. "I have never asked you for anything, _anything_, but I'm asking now. Please, take care of our daughter."

"I… I…" he was still staring at me, but all his rage seemed to have dissolved. Weakened, he turned back to Mom. "Lori, please," he begged her, "how am I going to explain this to Beth? What about Lauren and Callum? I could loose everything."

I didn't know how Mom was going answer that, I wasn't sure she could.

I felt numb the way after a serious injury your body shuts down and you don't feel the impact until later.

Mom was saved from answering by the arrival of a new voice. Saved is of course a relative term.

"Richard, it's thanksgiving, invite Oliver in for a drink or sort this out tomorrow," the woman said opening the door wide. Warm caramel light burst out over us.

I wanted to close my eyes and pretend I was back in the parking lot of Joe's bar. Lying on the warm tarmac waiting for Mom to finish her shift, sunlight beating down on my face, turning my eyelids red.

But when a droplet of water fell from the porch cover and hit me on the nose I knew that I was here standing at the front door of my father's house in a rainy Washington town. Watching as I caused a man's life to collapse around him.

Richard's face turned white. The change from rose to ivory was so abrupt, so complete that I thought he would faint. "Beth, honey," he said turning in a vain attempt to block us from her view. "Go back inside. Oliver was just leaving…"

It was too late. I knew it. Mom knew it. And a second later Richard knew it.

The woman's sharp bird-like eyes had caught sight of us and narrowed suspiciously. "Richard, I thought you said it was Oliver delivering the work?"

Mom straightened herself up; I could tell that where my father had failed in intimidation his wife succeeded with merely an arch of her well-plucked brow. "Lori? Lori McCoy? Is that you?" her voice was falsely pleasant, well bred but lacking sincerity, and laced with a threat. "I hardly recognised you, how long has it been?"

"17 years, Beth," Mom answered, more than a little conceited, and leaving a few seconds for it to sink in. "How are you?"

I couldn't lift my eyes from my feet, yet I still felt a shiver run down my spine when Beth's gaze fell on me, evaluating. "You can't possibly be serious?" She scoffed. "That's absurd." Heavy silence. "Richard?" she squeaked, panic now over coming good manners. "Will you tell this woman that her games are not appreciated and to leave us alone so that we may salvage what is left of our thanksgiving?"

"Beth," he breathed, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder but she neatly sidestepped it and he let it drop to his side. "I'm so sorry."

I looked up just as her palm collided sharply with his cheek. "You bastard."

The slap seemed to pull him together again. He blocked her exit back into the house, she shoved him but he didn't budge. "Beth, please, it was nothing! I'm so so sorry."

"Nothing?" she screeched. "You had a child with that bitch! How can that possibly be _nothing_? I knew it!"

"Calm down," he appealed to her, eyes darting to the surrounding houses.

"Fuck you!" she shouted. " And fuck the neighbours! Everyone told me I was being played for a fool. _Everyone_ knew. _I_ knew. But when I asked you and you promised me…" She looked for a moment like she was going to throw up. "Just get out of my way."

"I love you," he pleaded, "I'll do whatever you want – _anything_ – to make it right. I'll sleep in the car. I'll sleep on the driveway. I'll, I'll… beg on my knees. Is that what you want, to see me begging? I will, say the word and I will."

I saw her shoulders heave and I knew that she was on the edge. Strangely, in that minute I felt closer to her than anyone else present. "Get out," was what she said in her strangled voice. "I want you to get out. I never want to see you or that whore again."

"Beth…"

"Get out of my way and get out of this house," she gritted her teeth. He hesitated, then stepped only so far that she could get back inside. She squeezed past him, making sure that not one part of her touched him.

The door slammed so forcefully that a small shower of droplets fell over me from the porch.

Behind us a car sped down the road, splashing rainwater over the footpath. I couldn't move. I had to physically force air into my lungs.

It felt like the flutter of a moth's wing would leave the world crumbling into dust.

Then I heard Mom's lighter scratch and a puff of smoke drifted back to me. "All her things are in the bag. I… this wasn't… I'm no good at being a Mom. I fuck everything up. Please look after her for me?"

Through the thick walls I heard shouting, crashing.

Sounding as if he was one hundred years old Richard sighed. "Get the fuck out of here, Lori."

I heard her shoes against the marble, the tap of her heels. The same ones I used to put on when she was out and pretend I was a grownup. The ones I fell over in and cracked my forehead on the coffee table, the silver scar was nearly invisible now.

Her hand felt cold on mine and her lips skimmed my forehead so lightly I wasn't sure if I had imagined it, wishful thinking could do all sorts of things to you. Wishing was dangerous, dangerous because sometimes it comes true.

Next thing I knew for certain was the rough purr of an engine and the screech of wheels on a wet road.

I didn't know what to say to fill the quietness. Silence was scary. I don't know why, but it was.

My mind wiped itself blank. So I said nothing.

When I was 11 I had to read out a school project in front of the entire class, a chance to prove myself worthwhile. I remember standing there with all those expectant eyes on me. The way my heart raced and my palms grew sweaty. I had the words written down but all the letters were now jumbled and the words looked foreign. My mouth went dry and I wanted to cry. What had I done to deserve this?

Eventually my teacher, Miss Clarke took pity on me and sent my trembling body back to its seat.

Miss Clarke wasn't here to save me.

Richard slammed his fist against the door. "Beth! Beth! Open the damn door!"

Barely a second later the door did swing open. There stood a young woman with silky blonde hair whipping about her face. Her expression bordered that of a medusa. Unconsciously, my fingers twitched just to make sure I wasn't stone.

"How could you do that?" she snarled, her mouth curling up unpleasantly. "You've ruined everything! I hate you."

"You don't hate me, you're just angry."

I knew it was a stupid thing to say, but he didn't seem to realise his mistake.

"I do hate you," she insisted, tongue sharp as glass, "I have never hated anyone this much. I hate you, and I hate her!" a sharp finger jabbed in my direction.

"Laurie, baby," he tried to persuade her to calm. I tried to disappear. "I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. It was a mistake, a stupid mistake. Your daddy is only human after all."

The girl's nostrils flared, her green eyes were blood shot and quickly filling. "My name is Lauren," she said.

"Lauren," he corrected. "I'm begging you, I need you. I'm nothing without you guys. Please, just please could you fetch your Mom?"

Her head shook, the straight blonde tendrils shifted across her shoulders. "Mom doesn't want to see you. And neither do I. I'm never going to forgive you for this," she promised, " I don't ever want to see you again."

Before Richard could say anything, not that there was anything he could do at that moment, another person reached the doorway. In his hand was a suitcase. "Lauren," he said, placing his spare hand on her shoulder, "go and look after Mom."

She was torn, I could see that part of her wanted to stay to see how this was going to end, the other wanted to runaway and hide under her duvet. I knew because it was exactly how I felt. With a gentle squeeze the calm man guided her back inside and took her place. Lauren threw one last glare over her shoulder and disappeared.

"Callum," Richard breathed with relief, obviously expecting something like an ally.

Callum wasn't looking at his father he was watching me. Not in the way his mother had, like she was dissecting a particularly disgusting insect, but with simple curiosity. "Dad," he said, still not moving his eyes from me, "here's some of your stuff. I think it's best if you stay away for a bit."

"I need to speak to Beth," Richard ignored his son's suggestion.

Finally, Callum turned to his father. "Not now. Give her time, alright."

"Will you talk to her for me? Tell her how much I love her, how much I love you all. It was a stupid mistake made years ago, please don't let it destroy us." He was grasping on to the fraying ends of his family.

Callum took a deep breath. "You're a prick, dad. A complete asshole, and right now I can barely look at you. I'm not passing any messages on. If you _love_ us… prove it."

The door shut behind him.

Richard, my father, stared at the closed door, shoulders slumped and head bowed. I waited for him to make some move, whether that was to resume his attack on the door or to get in his car and speed away. He did nothing, just stood there the picture of defeat.

So, when it was clear that he wasn't going to move on his own, I lifted my duffle over one shoulder and picked up his suitcase. He looked at me with furrowed brows, puzzled by my actions.

"Lets go get something to eat," I said.

He nodded. Straightened up from his slump against the door and pulled a clinking set of silver keys from is pocket. I heard two short beeps and there was the flash of orange lights from the silver car in the driveway.

I sat next to him in the quiet car listening to the sound of the wipers swishing across his windscreen. The car was so new it still had that smell, wasn't sure I liked it. Mom's car always smelt of her perfume and cigarette smoke.

I felt nervous just sitting there in case I smeared dirt over it's pristine interior. I concentrated on keeping as still as possible, feet together, hands in lap.

He coughed. It was so unexpected I jumped. "Sorry," he apologised, "it's just…" he looked embarrassed. "I, uh, I don't know your name."

"Annabelle," I told him, "my name is Annabelle."

Nodding, his brows low over his eyes he focused on the road ahead. "Annabelle. Ok. Uh, what do feel like eating, Annabelle? Do you like Chinese?"

"Sure," I said."

We pulled into a small takeaway restaurant on the edge of town. It had bright red dragons curling up the sides of the sign, and a bulb inside was flickering on and off. I couldn't understand how anyone would willingly work under that constant buzzing light.

Next door was a gas station and over the road was a decent looking motel.

There were a few stools set up around the mirrored sides, but it was almost empty. A couple of teenagers were ordering at the counter, the girl had her hand in the boy's baggy back pocket. When they left she smirked at me, curling her head against the guy's shoulder.

"Do you, uh, know what you want?" Richard asked.

"Chicken chow mein," I said.

"Take a seat, I'll go order."

Maybe I should have been more upset. Distraught the way every line on Richard's face told me that he was. Crying, or shouting, or something, but I wasn't. Maybe it was because since I could remember Mom had always used it as her threat of choice.

'_Stop crying or I'll call adoptive services!'_

'_I swear, you make a mess of one more pair of shoes and I'll have to sell you to get my money back.'_

'_Touch my makeup again and you'll be packing for a very long vacation.'_

'_You are just so fucking selfish I don't know why I bother!'_

I guess I always knew at some point she would follow through.


	2. It's Just Beginning

**A/N: **I meant to write this on the first chapter but for some reason i completely forgot how Fanfiction worked and so everything just flew out of my head and i sat here like a bumbling idiot - it happens alot. So, i want to say that this story is set about ten years after Supernova (for those who have read it) or ten years after Eclipse. I don't think you need to read my other story to get this because it's not focused on those characters but if you don't understand something let me know!

A great big humongus hug goes out to everyone who reviewed, wow. And i think i might owe Bible Chick a serious amount of cookies for all her PR work! Thank you all.

I don't own anything you recgonise, they belong to Stephanie, and this applies to all of the chapters of this story so i don't have to keep writing it. Callum, Beth, Richard, Lori, and Annabelle are mine and any others i slip in here.

Please read, review, and most importantly, enjoy!

**

* * *

**

**Thursday's Child**

Chapter 2: "_And While Your Head Is Spinning, Hold Tight, It's Just Beginning._" – The Decemberists, We Both Go Down Together.

That night I dreamt of a great tree.

It stood in the centre of a wide grassy plain.

The only living thing for miles was this one huge, gnarled tree.

I stood next to the tree, dwarfed by its colossal size. I felt safe there under the thick foliage.

A butterfuly floated by, it's wings multicoloured and sheer, it danced with the breeze and i watched it until i could no longer see it.

All around me the air shifted, grew tense, grew angry, every particle furiously feeding off of it's neighbour's rage.

Branches whipped about in the wind like the flailing arms of a drowning man and I had to duck to avoid their thorny bite.

Rain sleeted down. In seconds I was drenched.

The branches had been stripped of their leaves providing no more shelter. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to cling to the trunk and close my eyes until it was finished.

A tremendous crack split the sky in half.

When the blinding light cleared from my sight the tree was flat on the marshy ground.

The next flash of silver white threw the immense highway of knotted roots into vivid relief against the wild sky.

A scream died in my throat.

When I woke up my legs were bound in a tangle of damp sheets. My t-shirt stuck to my back. I flopped against the hard motel pillow and kicked my covers down the bed. Let the cool night air hit my hot skin for a while.

Outside there was nothing but the steady dance of rain against the window.

Inside I heard the alien breathing of Richard on the other bed. Quiet snoring, followed by stretches of silence.

He was still leaning back against the headboard, his chin now rested on his chest in an awkward arrangement. The TV remote dangled loosely in one hand. Even in sleep he frowned, looking anything but peaceful.

I crept off of the bed and over to the window. The forecourt outside was lit by streetlamps in a misty amber glow. I watched a lonely car pull into the service station.

Closing the curtains I went to Richard's side and slipped the control from his fingers. Whatever film it was that he had been watching must of finished because the screen was now fuzzy. It threw strange shadows around the room and hurt my eyes to look at.

In the complete darkness of the room I waited for my eyes to adjust.

I pulled the blanket off of my bed and lay it over him. I was too hot with it on and he appeared to have fallen asleep before getting under his own.

Then I climbed back into my cool, clammy sheets and tried for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

"Annabelle," Richard said as I came out of the bathroom fully dressed. "Do you have your licence?"

"Sure," I nodded, tucking my folded up pyjamas in my bag. The curtains were still drawn, letting only a splinter of daylight sneak in. "You want me to get you something?"

He was still in his clothes from the day before looking crumpled in every way. His hair stuck up in tufts at the back and there were darkening circles under his eyes. "No, no. I'm exhausted; I didn't get much sleep last night. I was thinking that if you wanted to take my car and go get yourself something to eat... then you could."

Oh. "That's really kind but…" I couldn't drive that thing out there. What if I had an accident?

"Here," he pushed upright and fished his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled out some notes and held them for me to take. "My treat."

I stared at them. "I've got my own money," I said.

His arm snapped back. "Oh, of course. I didn't mean…"

"It's ok." I knew what he really wanted. "I'll give you some space."

It was hard to ignore the relief in his eyes. "Thank you. Here," he tossed the clinking keys at me and I caught them neatly with cupped hands.

"I will be careful, I swear." He didn't look at all bothered or comforted by my assurance. "I guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah," he nodded, already sliding back down the bed, "later."

* * *

Two minutes down the road I found a Thriftway. It probably wasn't what Richard had in mind when he suggested I go somewhere to eat but I couldn't face the thought of going into the town and it was nearly 11am.

There was a café in the market. I scooted past it and grabbed an apple and some breakfast bars before paying and hurrying out to the car. Maybe I was being silly and paranoid, it just felt like I was wearing a big neon sign.

_**Richard Mallory's Illegitimate Daughter! $5 A Look! **_I was in the freak tent at the circus on a pedestal, just waiting for the curtain to rise.

I knew that was ridiculous because I even snuck a glance in a window as I passed to check. Stupid and unfounded as it was I couldn't sit with all these locals, contentedly full of their Thanksgiving feast. What if I did something that gave it away? What if Callum or Lauren came in? What if Beth did?

Popping open the large and valet-clean boot I climbed in to have my breakfast, legs swinging over the bumper.

Yesterday's rain had weakened to a pretty pathetic drizzle that caused my dirty blonde hair to look dirtier than usual. The wind, on the other hand, had picked up an edge that cut through my clothes even as I sat sheltered.

I leaned back and grabbed my bobble hat out of the bag I had haphazardly packed in the semi-darkness of the motel room. I was jamming it on my head when two jean-clad legs appeared in my peripheral vision.

"Hey, I'm Seth!" the legs introduced themselves before I could even turn to see the stranger.

"Uh." He was tall, really tall, like way over six feet, with rich copper skin and big almond shaped brown eyes. They glittered out from under a crop of black hair. His wide, beaming grin was directed solely at me. I wondered what I could have possibly done to this man for such an energetic reaction. "Hi?"

His large hand shot out to me. I stared at it. Not my politest moment but the whole thing had taken me by surprise. My hesitance didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

"I was getting some milk for my Mom," he explained with no motivation from me. "She couldn't get it because she is stuck at Billy's house all morning clearing up after Thanksgiving. And just like that," he clicked his fingers together. _Snap!_ "When I saw you sitting here eating that apple I sensed a connection, a chemistry, between us."

I must have resembled a goldfish as my mouth flapped. Was he serious? "You got all that just by looking at me?"

"Yeah!" He nodded, with what appeared to be unadulterated excitement. "Kind of like magic. Cool, huh. We – you and me," he pointed to him-self and then at me in case I wasn't sure, "are meant to be together."

"Right." I gathered my stuff and shoved it into the boot, hopped down and slammed it shut. "Nice to meet you," I muttered making my way around to the driver-side door. "But I've really got to get going."

He moved so fast it startled me, successfully cutting off my exit route. This was not good. "Don't you feel it?" He appealed. "The sparks."

"Please get out of my way," I said, trying not to sound as worn out as I felt.

Standing next to this muscled giant I realised he could probably crush me with one hand, maybe even one finger. The image passed in full Technicolor through my head. I glanced about nervously, checking that there were other shoppers nearby. A woman was struggling to get her toddler back in his car seat four spaces over. And an employee was clearing up abandoned trolleys by the entrance.

"I really don't know what you are talking about. I have to go now."

His hands raised, palms out in surrender. "Sorry. That wasn't how this was supposed to go. I didn't mean to freak you out."

What exactly he had intended to do? "That's ok, really," I said making to move around him.

He sidestepped into my path. "Please, wait. My sister is always saying I wave my freak flag way too enthusiastically. I just really wanted to talk to you."

"Why?"

A grin lifted his cheeks. "Why not?"

"I'm not very interesting," I hurried to assure him.

"I don't believe you." He didn't push the subject, almost as if he knew it was tender. "This your car?"

I looked at the sleek silver vehicle beside us and shook my head. "No way."

"You steal it?" He asked.

I whirled around, panicked that he was seconds away from calling the cops.

His eyebrows wagged playfully, like a pair of happy black caterpillars, and I realised too late that he was teasing me. "I was kidding!" he laughed. "Your face."

"Not funny."

"It was a little funny. So are you visiting for the holidays?"

How did I answer when I had no idea what the answer was? "I, uh, I don't actually know."

He nodded with an understanding smile. "That's very spontaneous of you."

"I'm not spontaneous. Ever."

"Well, I hope you stay for a while." I stared at him, he sounded as if he really meant it. That smile was back. "So I was wondering – I know I've probably completely freaked you out – but, would you have a coffee with me? Just friends I swear! We could go to the café, there are people in there. Its freezing out here and I don't want you getting a cold or something."

It was a surprise to find that I actually wanted to. I didn't know anything about this man but his name, yet he was asking me what _I_ wanted to do and it felt like the first time in years. "Inside?" I questioned, eyeing the building suspiciously.

He must have noticed my reluctance to re-enter the shop. "Wait here," he said.

I looked at him.

"Please?"

I had nothing else to do today. "Sure," I answered.

For a long second he scrutinized my reply, probably judging whether I was telling the truth or not, or maybe it was whether he should go grab some rope and strap me to the bumper. Then, satisfied, he was off across the parking lot with long easy strides.

This was weird. It was the kind of thing I never did back in Nevada. Honestly, I never did very much at all back home, and what I did rarely included boys – men. And Seth was definitely a man, despite his youthful enthusiasm. Which led to the question of what someone like him would want with someone like me? I was flattered, it would be a lie to try and deny that. I was also a little scared. This was the kind of situation my Mom would have been over the moon to see me in. I think she was beginning to question whether I liked boys at all. It was also the kind of situation the councillors at school warned us not to get into.

Yet, there was an intrinsically gentle aura about Seth that put me at ease, or at least calmed the irrational fear that I was about to end up in a ditch.

I didn't hear him return until he was practically next to me.

"Hey! You stayed!" He observed joyfully.

I shrugged.

"Do you mind if we sit in the car? You're going to turn blue any minute."

"Uh, yeah, ok." I fumbled with the keys to unlock the doors. He swept around to the passenger side and slipped comfortably in, ducking his head low. He was really extremely tall. With less zeal I climbed into the driving seat and turned the heating on. It had been an interesting surprise earlier to find the under seat heating.

"That's toasty," Seth approved. "Here." I took the proffered paper cup, instantly feeling the heat shoot through my cold hands. "I wasn't sure if you liked milk or sugar, or whatever so…" I stared as he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled a large handful of little milk and sugar packets out. "I covered my bases."

My lips twitched. I took milk and two sugars. Balancing the hot cup between my legs I poured in the packets into the nutty smelling drink.

"I got these too," he said, passing me a plastic spoon and a napkin.

"Thank you." For some reason the whole thing struck me as pretty hilarious. I sniggered. "Did you leave any for the other customers?"

He quirked an eyebrow, "Are you laughing at me?"

"A little bit," I admitted since he didn't seem to mind at all.

"After I brought you coffee and everything. I'm hurt."

"Sorry."

His head shook. "Don't be. I like hearing you laugh."

Was that normal for a guy to be so… so… open about these things when you've only just met them?

Whether it was normal or not Seth clearly could care less. He sipped his own drink with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

We sat in silence for a while. I watched a newspaper dance a twisted waltz with an empty bottle of coke across the parking lot.

"So what's your name?" Seth asked eventually.

"Annabelle," I told him.

"Hey, Annabelle," he paused. "Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah." I turned to see his profile as he stared out at the grey morning.

"I like you." He looked straight at me. "I like you more than I've ever liked anyone." I stared back, my drink unconsciously tipping. "Is that weird?"

"Uh, I … It's…" I yelped as the steaming coffee overflowed and hit my thigh through my jeans. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!"

"Oh shit!" I heard Seth curse while I was busy checking to make sure I hadn't got any of the spill on Richard's creamy seats.

I froze, because the next thing I knew there was an incredibly warm hand pressing against my damp thigh.

"Oh my god!" I screamed, jolting away from him. "What the hell are you doing?"

He backed up immediately, hands raised, a soggy napkin hanging from his fingers. "I was trying to help! Are you ok? Did it burn you?"

I was being irrational. I could see that now as I took in the scene. I slowed my breathing. "I'm fine. No harm done. It was hot, not scolding."

His breath rushed out in what sounded like relief. "Good. Here, let me take that." I relinquished my almost empty cup to him; he slotted it inside his own and jammed the damp napkin in after. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to feel you up, I swear."

That brought a burst of pale pink out in my cheeks. How arrogant did I seem to assume that he would even _want_ to touch me? I examined the muddy mark on my once clean jeans. "That's ok."

He laughed. Not a restrained chuckle. A big booming, fruity laugh, completely unembarrassed by it's own joy. "That's ok?" he said, causing me to look up at him.

"What?"

The crinkles around his eyes deepened. "That's ok?" he repeated.

I found myself sniggering, but trying desperately to control it. "What?"

"I feel you up and all you can say is: That's ok? It's funny."

"But you said you weren't feeling me up!"

"I wasn't," he assured. "I could have been though. We've only just met. Most girls would have slapped me for that."

Now I was confused. "You want me to slap you?"

His laugh rolled around the car and I wondered if people outside could here it. I would've been embarrassed. Seth wasn't. "No, Annabelle, I don't want a slap. You're just different – In a good way, the best way."

I blushed. I wasn't entirely sure that what he had just said was a compliment but the way he was gazing at me definitely was.

Silence again.

Was this how it should be – so comfortable? Maybe I was boring him.

I glanced over. He didn't look bored, but the quietness was itching at me. "So, do you work in Forks?"

"At the hospital. I grew up here, though. Well, not here exactly. La Push, down by the coast."

"Oh. Are you a Doctor?" The knowledge that he worked at a hospital was a big relief. Murderers don't work in hospitals, right? Hospitals are full of respectable members of society.

His head shook, a rueful smile curling up his lips. "No. I'm not that studious. A nurse – and don't you dare laugh!"

"I wasn't going to."

Those deep, dark eyes narrowed. "You really weren't were you? Man, you're something else. You can't imagine the months of mockery I got from my brothers for that. My sister is still going with it."

My ears pricked up. "You've got a lot of brothers?"

A strange smile; "Kind of. We all grew up together. Technically we're not immediately related, but…" The ringing of a cell phone cut off the rest of his explanation. "Sorry," he grinned a little sheepishly, pulling the silver cell from his pocket.

"Hey, Mom. No I'm not lost. Yeah, I know. You said. Sure. Right, does he want crunchy or smooth? Oh, ok, well which one does she want? Crunchy. Anything else? What? Tell her those cravings are getting a little out of hand. Uh, huh. Tinned? Yup." His eyes slid to me, then quickly away. "I won't be long. Ok, ok, I won't be longer. I'm fine. I promise. I think you need to get your hearing tested because I am totally good, great in fact. Ok, I'll see you in a bit."

I waited while he put the phone back in his pocket. "I guess you've got to get going." It must be nice, people noticing if you're late, or if you're there at all.

"Yeah," he apologised.

I nodded. "Ok. It, uh, was nice to meet you." I heard his scoff and my head shot up to him. "What?"

"You don't have to pretend," he told me. "I know I've freaked you out."

I paused, the lie on the tip of my tongue. Then I realised that it wasn't a lie. "I mean it. I'm only a third freaked."

He smiled, grateful for my humour, however weak it was. "It's been nice meeting you too, Annabelle." He chuckled once, short, laughing at himself or his words. "More than nice. Way more."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly drier than dust. "Uh…"

"It's ok," he cut me off, "I'm really sorry, I just can't keep it in." I wanted to say something, anything, but my mind was a blank slate. "Are you busy today?"

I coughed to clear my throat. "I don't know."

"If you're bored or want some company we're having a lazy day at the Black's today, you're more than welcome."

"Thank you but…"

"Seriously," he stared straight at me, trying to convey his sincerity as if it wasn't laced with every word the man said. "It's small, there's not much room. But its welcoming and warm and…" He pulled a crumpled receipt out and a stubby pencil. "This is my number…"

"Oh, ok."

"No pressure. Just, if you want…"

"Sure."

"Anything, anywhere, anytime…"

"Ok."

His hand reached for the door handle but he stopped himself. "What's your favourite colour?"

The triviality of the question threw me. "I don't know. B… blue? Maybe."

* * *

I got back to the motel just as the clock flicked to 12. From the parking lot you could see the window of our room, curtains still tight shut. I sat in the car for a while, hesitant to re-enter that darkness. I ate three breakfast bars but my stomach was hollow.

When the same warden passed me for the 4th time and waved I knew I was being a chicken. I locked his car and headed up the steps to the second floor. My hand hovered with the key half in the lock.

"Please, Beth, please answer the phone. We need to talk about this. I love you. It was a stupid mistake that I wish had never happened. If I could go back and undo it all I would, in a millisecond. It meant nothing to me. You mean everything to me. Everything…"

He was still talking but my feet were down the slippery steps to the car in seconds. I climbed in; it felt safe in there, secure, nothing could touch me. With my eyes shut and head tilted back on the rest I breathed in deeply. I remembered that Mom used to do the same thing when she got in the car after work. She would sit silent for a minute with her eyes closed just breathing.

The scent of coffee filtered through my senses. Almost without my permission I had my old cell phone out and the scrap of paper with a number scribbled across it.

It took four rings before he answered. "Hello?"

Something snatched my vocal chords away and I couldn't speak. In the background I could hear the rumble of conversation.

"Uh, hello? Is anyone there?"

"Hi?" I squeaked eventually.

"Annabelle? Hey! I just got back. How are you doing?" He sounded excited. Maybe that was his only setting.

"I… I'm ok."

"You want to come over? Mom is making turkey sandwiches with the leftovers."

I was lost in a desert, sand blasting my eyes shut and roaring in my ears. Seth's voice reached out like mirage pulling me towards the lush paradise that I couldn't be certain wasn't just wishful thinking. Blindly I stumbled forwards. "Is that ok?"

"Ok?" he laughed. "I think it will be ok. Do want me to come pick you up or should I give the address? It's not too hard to find."

I twisted the shiny keys in my hand. I hoped maliciously that this house was at the end of a long dirt track. "Address, please."

"Head north down Forks Avenue, past Thriftway, until you get to the crossing with La Push road. You just follow La Push road all the way to the town. I'll stand on the street so you know which house it is."

* * *

I had a friend once and her name was Josie. We would sit next to each other at lunch and she shared her chips with me. After school sometimes I would ride home with her and her mom in their big glossy car.

I liked Josie. She had dark hair all silky smooth, and sweet brown eyes like chocolate. She had the shiniest shoes I had ever seen and her mom made sure her dresses were always pressed.

What I enjoyed most about being friends with Josie was that she was an only child too so we used to pretend we were sisters separated at birth.

But Josie wanted to come over to ours, she wanted to meet my Mom, have a healthy cooked dinner and play in our backyard.

We didn't have a backyard, just some slabs of concrete and dust. Our kitchen table was covered in empty takeaway boxes so we ate in the living room whilst watching Ray's Monster Truck show.

Ray was the deadbeat decorating our couch at the time. He stunk of sweat and cigarette smoke and he had a habit of spitting into empty beer cans.

That was the end of my friendship with Josie Buchanan.

I learnt to stick to the edges, fly under the radar. By the time I hit high school I was known as the quiet kid, shy. The one that spoke to no one, smiled at no one, and eventually was noticed by no one. You'd be surprised how easy it is to disappear when you really want to. Flittering about like a ghost. I was neither ugly nor beautiful, neither clever nor stupid. My hair was messy no matter what conditioner I used, more of a mousy brown than blonde, and my eyes a murky green like moss or a pond that needs cleaning. I was ordinary, simply one of those people that travel through their lives barely making a ripple across the pond. And that was ok by me. That was who I was.

I wasn't the girl who meets a cute guy in a parking lot and finds herself in a whirlwind romance, and I definitely wasn't the girl who drives to his home to meet his family barely an hour later.

The realisation had me pulling into the side of the road and switching the engine off.

Inside the car it was quiet. I didn't dare look out at the passing shoppers.

I hadn't made it out of Forks before reality had caught up, a dark storm cloud hovering on my horizon. I was going nowhere. I wasn't going to Seth's and I wasn't going back to the motel.

I just sat there, staring at the dashboard, wondering how the hell I had gotten here.


	3. Hazy Girl

**A/N:** I'm a bit slow at the moment, sorry, hopefully it will pick up. I have nothing much else to say - thank god!

Big big thank you to everyone who took the time to review, and to anyone who read this far! Life can be a whirlwind so i appreciate you making time for my little story.

Disclaimer from the last chapter applies here. Please read, review, and enjoy! xxxxxx

* * *

Thursday's Child

Chapter 3: "_I'm Just A Hazy Girl Blurring All The Edges._" – Mandy Moore, Wild Hope.

When I got back to the motel I went straight up the stairs and made a conscious effort not to hesitate at the closed door. Inside, Richard was sprawled on his bed, I thought perhaps he hadn't moved at all today, except that one curtain was now open enough to let a slivery crack of light in. The TV wasn't on and neither was he reading a book or newspaper, he was just staring at the beige wall. Or was it at the crack in the plaster just above a wishy-washy painting of a field in spring that caught his eye?

"I brought muffins," I said, walking in and putting my bag in the wardrobe.

"I'm not really hungry right now," he said, eyes closing as if his lids were just too tired to stay open any longer.

"Ok, well I'll put them here." I dumped the paper bag on the bedside table. It was so silent that it roared in my ears. Every thud of my heart seemed impossibly loud and every breath like I'd run a marathon. "Are there any good movies on tonight?"

He shrugged.

There was a crumpled TV guide on the cabinet where the television sat. I opened a curtain and sat on my bed to read it. Richard got up, grunting as he straightened out, and walked into the bathroom.

Alone in the room my eyes welled up. The words in bold black ink blurred out of recognition and I felt a flush of hot heat in my cheeks. The toilet flushed and I took a deep breath in, blinking away the tears and trying to regain composure.

I looked for the kind of movie a man would like. Mom and me always went for the chick flicks, rags to riches, that kind of thing. Girly films we could watch with big tubs of ice cream and popcorn and pretend that life really was that easy.

While I was still looking through he came to stand silently beside me. "I'll order pizza," he said eventually, "what do you want on yours?"

I lifted my head to read his expression. It was carefully controlled, forced lightness to cover the shadows lurking under his eyes. I appreciated the attempt, even if I could see right through it.

"You do like pizza, right? I mean everyone likes pizza." He sounded unsure of himself. I figured it was a new feeling for him. Must be difficult for a man like Richard to adjust to the sensation of his life spinning out of control, to have the floor pulled out from under him so suddenly, so completely.

I nodded. "Yeah, I like pizza. Pepperoni, please."

The tiniest hint of a smile caught the corner of his mouth. Turning away he pulled out his phone and called a local place. I wondered how many times he'd used it with his children – his other children – after a late night at work, too busy to bother with cooking, Beth mixing a salad that none of them would touch.

"Hi. Two pepperoni pizzas, please…"

* * *

Richard was still asleep when I woke up the next morning. The pizza box lay on the bedside table. The crusts I left were curled around each other, the cheese had congealed, and the two half empty cans of soda were growing still.

I stretched out, I had slept much better and I felt the difference.

When I got out of the shower Richard was awake and opening the curtains to let in the cool light from outside. "Do you want to go and get breakfast?" He asked.

"Sure," I nodded, strangely nervous at the thought of possibly being out in public with him.

"Alright then." He straightened himself out. "Give me a minute and we'll get going."

* * *

The other day, which seemed years ago now, when we passed through here I hadn't really been looking. Now I took time to check my surroundings. It was a grey little town not much smaller than my home with all the essential amenities. I imagined that most of the residents knew each other or were related to each other and so the entrance of anyone new was met with suspicion and interest; a new species for them to poke and prod and observe for any unusual traits.

Instead of stopping like I had expected him to we carried on through the town until the buildings began to give way to dark towering trees. The further we travelled from Forks the tenser the atmosphere in the car grew. I couldn't look at him and he wasn't looking at me, the space between us impassable.

It was guilt and shame that drove us from the local coffee houses. Richard was ashamed of me. Ashamed, might be too strong and perhaps a little unforgiving. It was more that his guilt was confirmed by my existence. For him to walk casually amongst the friends of his wife and children with me would have seemed like he was proud of what he had done. So he drove past the scattering of houses on the outskirts of town and along the 101.

Awhile later he pulled into a roadside café, we were nearing the larger town of Port Angeles by this time. There were a few other vehicles parked outside but most had out of state number plates, here we could be anonymous and I was thankful for it.

When we sat down in a booth by the large window I wondered what the people around us saw when they looked our way. Did we look like we had met for the first time two days ago? Did they see the strangeness we had with each other? The way every expression was new and hard to read, or how I didn't know if he took his coffee black or with milk or sugar? Or did they simply see a father out for breakfast with his daughter?

Once we had placed our orders to the chirpy waitress the silence sunk over us again. I lifted a napkin from the dispenser because I needed something to do with my hands. Carefully, making more than one wrong move, I folded the paper into an origami frog. It was a little crumpled looking, perhaps it had been in a tussle over the best lily pad, but it was frog shaped nonetheless.

"Where did you learn to do that?" I heard Richard ask, his voice sounding brash after the quiet.

"My art teacher taught the class." I glanced up. He looked interested, although I could have been mistaken. "She showed us how to do cranes and flowers and other stuff but I can't remember those. I kind of liked the frog best anyway."

"Here," He said taking another napkin out and spreading it on the countertop. "When I was in college I used to get so bored during lectures that I'd start folding up pages from my notebook for something to do." His fingers worked quickly, folding lines with practise. "I found it cathartic. So, eventually I got a book out from the library and learnt how to make actual _things_ from it." There on the burnt orange table was a neat swan looking as if it was just about to take flight.

"Cool," I admired. "Can you teach me?"

Our eyes met, green on green. "Sure."

* * *

I was sad when we reached the outskirts of Forks after our breakfast. I felt the atmosphere tense and Richard's back straighten out. It was hard not to ask him if we could turn around and go somewhere else. My head twisted to pose the question when he got there first.

"Annabelle, would you like me to take you back to the motel or drop you off in town?" He asked. "I've got some important stuff do this afternoon."

My mouth flapped. "Sure. Ok. Uh, could you drop me off here, please?"

"Ok." He indicated and pulled over.

I climbed out, not daring to look at him until I was on the pavement. When I did return my gaze to the front seat I saw his nervous eyes darting about, and the moment I shut the door he was off again. I stood holding the origami swan in my limp hand as the silver car vanished down a side street.

There was that feeling again, of being a burden, more trouble than I was worth, the kid no one knows what to do with.

Down the street I spotted a deserted looking café. My stomach was full but I could think of nowhere else to go. I seemed to be spending a lot of my time around coffee these days.

Though I had originally been hesitant to enter such communal places, now I felt a kind of perverse pleasure from the possibility of someone figuring out who I was.

I peered in through the glass at the dark room, my breath fogging it up. There was no one home. So I turned around ready to find somewhere else when a piece of cardboard stuck to the corner of the window caught my eye.

**Help Wanted. Apply Within.**

"Hi there." A lady in a long flowing skirt, with thick ebony hair twisted on her head came up beside me, absently rummaging in her tote. Every movement of her hands caused a jingle, but she kept her warm eyes on me, smiling. "Can I help you at all?"

I turned away from the card tacked to the window. "I was just looking."

She pulled her hand free from the bag, a set of keys swinging from her fingertips. "Oh, right. Are you interested? Give me a second to open up. We can have a chat if you've got time."

With widening eyes I shook my head. "No, no, no, I didn't mean…"

"Drat," she said, arms falling limply to her sides and bangles clanking. "You sure?"

"Wanted a drink and a somewhere warm." I admitted.

"Do you want a job as well?" She inquired hopefully.

I shook my head and wrapped my coat tighter. I was starting to shiver. "I don't know how long I'm staying. Sorry."

"Oh, well, worth a try. Come on, come inside." She tempted with a friendly smile. "I'll get you a cup of coffee."

Without waiting for my answer she slipped the key in the lock and with a sharp kick to the door she swung it open, the bell ringing over her head. She hung her bag and jacket up on the hat stand and darted behind the counter. I was still hesitating by the door.

She looked up, flicked the light switch, and waved me in. "Come sit down. Nice swan."

That was when I noticed it. Her smile was a half smile pulled down on one side by a horrific looking scar. The silvery pink lines snaked across her smooth copper skin from the corner of her eye and disappearing down into the collar of her shirt. It was dark and menacing, hinting at a mysterious past completely at odds with the bright lights of her coffee house. Forcefully I withdrew my gaze. It wasn't nice to stare and I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable.

The shop was pleasant, cosy but not old. No doilies or lace table clothes. The walls were covered with brightly coloured paintings and photographs of what I assumed were the local area's beauty spots. Some of them even had little price tags under them. The circular tables were made of a golden wood with mismatched salt and peppershakers. Almost immediately I felt at home in this place, the feeling was unexpected.

"I don't bite!" she laughed. "Tea? Coffee? Juice?"

I chose a stool by the counter and dropped my bag at my feet. It was nice and warm inside. I unwound my scarf and brushed my hair back. "Hot chocolate, please."

"Coming right up." She bobbed down, appearing a second later with a big mug. "Sorry I was late. Had one thing after another to sort out. My youngest has a nasty cold and the babysitter was late. Then, the washing machine started leaking all over the floor, so I had to call the repairman. My husband was out early this morning and won't be back until late, he works wicked shifts. And, I had the other two to get off to school on time."

"That's a lot of work," I said.

She made no comment, but a large tub of chocolaty powder was wedged open. "Children are. Its great fun when everything is going smoothly." Milk was foamed up with a pipe that gave out a violent screech, pausing the conversation momentarily. "Of course that doesn't happen all that often. Especially when you've got three boys all packed with more energy than a bag of magic jumping beans and they all want to go swimming, or visit Grandpa, or take a hike into the forest, or throw mud at each other, or play leave the youngest behind. It never ends, I can tell you."

"Wow," I said. "Doesn't sound appealing."

"Yeah," she sighed, puffing a loose strand of hair from her forehead and stirring the milk into the chocolate. "It is always hard work. But then I've found that nothing worth doing is easy."

That sounded like a madman's logic to me. Why add more work when life is hard enough as it is?

"So," she continued, "The babysitter is all set up and the repairman should be over at two. I swear, any minute now that phone," she pointed to the one on the wall by two swinging saloon doors that I assumed led into a kitchen, "will ring and Helen will want to know where I hid the coco pops, or the remote, or how the dishwasher works, or if I could get her some chips and dip on my break."

A splash of steaming hot chocolate breached the side of the mug she was ferociously stirring and she hissed as it hit her hand. "Damn!"

"Oh!" I tossed her a napkin from the silver dispenser. "Are you alright?"

Clearing up the muddy puddle on the worktop she slid the mug across to me with a weary smile. "Fine. Sorry about my language." She dropped the wet paper in a bin and took a spot across from me while I blew at the drink. "Enough about me and my woes. What brings you to Forks?"

"Uh," my stomach sank. "I'm here to see my dad."

Obviously she sensed some kind of exclusion of the full facts. "On the run?" She winked.

I shifted, uncomfortable with the probing, however light-hearted it was. I tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and braved a smile. "Something like that." I sipped cautiously at the hot drink.

My discomfort wasn't registered, or if it was she ignored it. "Did you want cream with that?" She pointed to the chocolate. "I swear I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on so tight."

"No thanks," I said, "this is perfect."

There was no noise but the hum of the coffee machine and the muffled rumble of passing traffic. "So you don't know how long your going to be staying here?"

"It was kind of a spontaneous decision." I explained, trying to push down the feeling that that was exactly what it was.

"I see. So is your Daddy new in town?" she asked. "Cause I haven't seen you around here before, and believe me, in a place like this everyone knows everyone's business."

I felt my cheeks flush. "No, I've never met him before."

"Oh."

"My Mom's got a new job and she wants to set up first before I join her," I hurried to clarify. "I don't think I'll be here very long." I knew it was a lie the moment it left my lips.

There was a lengthy pause and I took another, longer, sip of hot chocolate to fill it. When I chanced a glance up she was staring at me with evaluating brown eyes. I looked back down. A minute ticked by. Something in the atmosphere changed, she had come to a conclusion. "Like I said before, I have a job going here if you're interested?"

I blinked. I just told her I didn't know how long I was staying for. Maybe I was easy to read. Maybe I should tell her that I was living in a motel at the moment.

I didn't, because strange as it was I liked the idea of working here in this nice, clean, light, colourful place. An image flashed through my mind, so inviting that I had to hold back from leaping at it out of my seat.

I was in my own apartment, working for my own money, living my own life, and no longer a burden to be carried. It was impossible, a dream, but it was so beautiful to let myself feel it for one second. "Seriously?"

She pretended to mull it over with exaggerated eyes raised to the ceiling and fingers stroking her chin. "Are you in trouble with the law?"

"No, but I don't know how long I'm going to be here. I might be gone tomorrow."

"Are you busy today? You want to make a bit of cash-in-hand?" She asked.

"I… I suppose so."

"Great. Finish your chocolate and I'll give you a run through all the different drinks. Then take my number home with you tonight and find out. When you do, give me a call." She grinned. "I'm Emily Uley, by the way. This is my café." Her hand stretched across towards me.

I took it, still believing that at any moment she would come to her senses and retract the offer. "Annabelle McCoy."

"Annabelle?" She straightened up and smiled like she was in on some private joke. "Welcome to Forks, Annabelle."

The phone rang with three sharp _buuurrrr-ings_. Emily puffed out a breath and leaned back towards me. "One muffin says she's run out of crackers."

The twinkle in her friendly eyes lightened my heart and I smiled. "Ice cream," I countered.

Lifting the handset from the wall she turned to face me and mouthed: 'the muffin is mine'.

"Hello… Yeah… No, just got here… About 6ish… you don't say… of course I will… yep… Thank you for this." Once the phone was back on its hook she walked with a straight face behind the counter.

"Well?" I asked.

Grabbing a set of plastic tongs she reached into the glass fronted case, gripped a blueberry muffin, and put it on a bright red plate. "Good guess," she shook her head, "this belongs to you."

I grabbed a knife and split the cake down the middle.

* * *

"That's it… tip it a bit further, so that the pipe is right on the surface… perfect. Now add the milk to the espresso. Sometimes the foam wont come out and you'll need to get a spoon to scoop it on top."

I did as Emily instructed. "Now what?"

She reached to the counter behind us and came back with an icing shaker. "Now you offer the customer a choice of chocolate or cinnamon."

I turned to the lady in her cosy purple jumper. "Would you like chocolate or cinnamon on top?"

"Chocolate," she gave me a conspiratorial wink, "don't tell anybody."

Taking the dispenser from Emily I smiled politely back at her. "Cross my heart. Emily?"

She leaned over my shoulder, casting an appraising eye to my finished product. "You're a natural! Great. Now run it through the till."

We had been at this all afternoon. With all the machines turned on and steaming coffee brewing I soon warmed up from the cool winds outside. I found that Emily was a very hands-on kind of boss, saying that the best way to learn was to do. Which meant that she had me straight up at the counter serving. It kind of worked, I had most of the popular drinks sorted, but I had also messed up the till five times, and spilled hot tea across my shoes.

"Happens to everyone," Emily trilled, completely unbothered and chatting happily to her patrons as I turned a vivid shade of magenta.

She had told me that it was quiet and she really wasn't lying. I noticed that a lot of locals were surprise to see her open. How the place had been making any kind of profit I didn't know.

I was so focused on learning all these new skills that I had barely glanced at the clock and when I did I was shocked to learn it was late afternoon. Though I doubted that Richard would be pacing the room worrying where I was I decided that it was a good time to get going.

Emily grabbed a leaflet with her phone number on it and some notes out of the till. I tried to refuse the money but she insisted, shoving it into my hands.

"Give me a call, Annabelle, if you want."

* * *

I wasn't born in Nevada. It was in Seattle that my Mom laid across a creaking bed with strangers shoving needles and tubes into her while she wished the pain would disappear, didn't matter how, just that it was gone.

We stayed in Seattle for a few years, crashing in Mom's friend Joni's apartment. I liked Joni, she had a big ginger cat called Freddie and she smelt nice, but she and Mom used to fight all the time. She would come home from work really tired and itching for an argument, anything would set her off.

'_Lori, fill up the fucking kettle when you've finished with it!'_

'_Tell that brat of yours to shut the hell up tonight, I need some sleep!'_

'_Did you finish all the god damn milk?'_

Mom said that she had a really high stress job and that night after night of my wailing didn't help. Mom wasn't working either so Joni was keeping us with her paycheck. It wasn't ideal.

Eventually Joni had enough. We had to go.

At this time Mom was seeing a guy who worked for a trucking company in Oregon. He would come to town every couple of weeks, bounce me on his knee, kiss Mom's worry away, and then he was off again. That time when he left we went with him.

I don't remember much of our time in Portland, only that Mom got a job at a fast food joint and Kenny (the truck driver) like to smoke joints. The weed made him restless, fidgety; he would sit and chatter to me for hours about the silliest of things, until the paranoia sunk in. Then he got loud and aggressive, and he would shout at Mom, positive that she was cheating on him, or hiding some of her cash away, or laughing at him behind his back, or planning to run away.

The last one wasn't his paranoia. We left when he was away on one of his truck drives to Tacoma. Packed up our stuff, grabbed all the cash and valuables we could find and got in Mom's new, second-hand car.

We drove south towards the sun.

That trip is one of my best memories. I can still feel the heat enclosing us in its arms, the blinding glint from the windshield, and Mom's voice rising tunelessly above the radio.

'_We're Thelma and Louise.' _She said with this big grin on her face and the wind from the open window ruffling her hair. _'Thelma and Louise.'_

Now, sat alone in a grey motel room I remembered that trip from the lush green of Oregon to the dusty gold of Nevada. The way life just seemed to swirl around, rising up like a tidal wave and carrying us along. How the sky stretched like a kingfisher-blue sheet of silk from one horizon to the next. I remember how the feel of a warm wind in your loose hair felt like freedom.

* * *


	4. One Too Many Mornings

**A/N: **Wow, it's been a while. I'm really sorry this has taken so long for me to do. I have excuses like life being a royal pain in the butt, but the main reason this has taken so long is that for some reason this chapter has been a block for me. I'm still not really happy with it, but i am happy to get it out of the way. So sorry if it's a bit crappy and disjointed - believe me i know!

More apologies: To MintCcIceCream i have read you lastest chapters and i really love the deveopement so far, nice intro to Jake's imprint as well - i can see some conflict coming from that. I will review the next chapter i just haven't had the time to do you justice. Sorry.

And, Bible Chick your stories are on the top of my 'To read list' i will get around to it eventually, i swear!

So, usual disclaimer applies. I hope you enjoy reading it a bit more than i did writing it. Please leave a review if you have time (i understand if you don't!).

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* * *

Thursday's Child

Chapter 4: "_And The Silent Night Will Shatter From The Sounds Inside My Mind, For I'm One Too Many Mornings And A Thousand Miles Behind._" – Bob Dylan, One Too Many Mornings.

Richard was drunk when he arrived back later that night. I was lying across my bed reading when I heard the screech of tyres in the parking lot. The silver car was sprawled over two spaces and I watched as Richard stumbled over to the stairs, a bottle swinging from his fingertips.

Fear clutched at my heart. Memories of faceless men, names lost to me now, throwing cans about, smashing glasses, shouting and shouting and shouting. I hurried back to my bed and opened my book, not seeing the words but pretending all the same.

When he entered the door swung open wide, slamming against the wall and chipping the paint. "Shit!" I heard him curse, but I dared not look up. "Shit, sorry!"

The lock clicked shut. His footsteps were loud across the room and it took him three attempts to settle the bottle upright on the desk. He kicked his shoes off; they thumped into the wardrobe carelessly. His bed springs creaked as he climbed on.

I realised suddenly that I needed to turn a page if I was going to make it look like I was really reading. I did, the brush of paper drowned by his heavy breathing.

"What are you reading?" He asked, the words slurred into each other.

I swallowed. "The Magic Toyshop."

"Never heard of it. What's it about?"

"An orphaned girl and her siblings who go to live with their strange uncle in his toyshop."

Richard was silent, even his breathing softened.

I thought he had fallen asleep and was about to switch out the lights when his voice spoke, sounding far away, distant.

"I've lost them."

I didn't have to ask whom he was referring to. Guilt over my mother's actions crept up inside and I wanted to disappear, vanish, so that none of this had ever happened. "I'm sorry." I glanced quickly over at him; he caught my gaze before I could turn away.

He looked at me with his heavy lidded eyes for a long time. "Yeah," he said eventually, "me too."

* * *

Sleep evaded me that night. I tossed and turned until my sheets tangled around my legs and my arms were pinned to my sides. One bed over Richard was dead to the world.

Out of the window nearest to me was the gas station, empty now. The wind had picked up and the branches of the trees bordering the lot shook, leaves quivering and boughs creaking. I was glad that we were not close to the forest edge, in this light the darkness between the braches looked impenetrable, almost as if it was solid. All manner of creatures could be lurking in there, eyes glinting.

I had never been one for ghosts and ghouls. It wasn't that they scared me. I just knew that there were more frightening things than them in the blinding light of day. People that looked like one thing and turned out to be another. Vampires and werewolves were nothing compared to finding out that the man who buys you dolls is also the man who throws bottles against the living room wall, or the woman who kisses you goodnight is also the woman who forgets to pick you up from school. At least monsters claimed to be nothing more or less than what they were. I could appreciate that, the surety it provided. If there was one thing you could count on, it was that a monster would always be a monster.

My eyes flicked away from the tree line when Richard's snores reached their crescendo and he flopped like a beached seal onto his other side.

When I returned my gaze out the window I jumped. My heart was in my mouth and my blood raced through my veins. It was as if I had talked or thought it up. There between two tree trunks and through the knots of brambles was what looked to be a pair of large dark eyes. In the seconds it took for me to calm my body down and focus on the patch of forest directly across from our window the eyes had vanished – if that was even what they were.

I must have been seriously tired. My mind was playing tricks on me.

The tangled foliage shifted. It was just the wind, I reminded myself. But my heart wasn't listening and it thumped loudly in my ears.

The wind blew to the right, all the branches straining in that direction.

The brambles moved to the left.

Oh my god. What was I supposed to do? Call the police? I should let someone know that an animal was this close to town – what if it was a bear or a wolf?

I was about to turn away and call reception in the hope that somebody there would know what to do, when the branches all began a great trembling motion, almost as if it was fitting. I held my breath, frozen in place at the window. Even Richard's snoring softened until everything was waiting, everything tensed to see what monster would appear.

Climbing haphazardly over the sharp branches and out of the gloom into the streetlights was a man.

I wanted to laugh my relief was so overwhelming. It was amazing what the mind could conjure up in the right situation. I breathed out and closed my eyes, just some idiot hiking in the middle of the night, not a ravenous wolf.

Then, when I peered back out to make certain, I found the man was staring straight up at me. A moment later he smiled and even in the dark it was the brightest thing I'd ever seen. Seth.

What the hell was Seth doing prancing about in the forest at night? Like I didn't think he was strange enough already? He waved and mouthed his name, obviously thinking I hadn't recognised him. Timidly, almost as an afterthought, I held my hand up in greeting.

He beckoned me down with one hand, the other tucking his grubby looking shirt into his pants.

I shook my head, taking a pointed look back at Richard.

He waved my excuse aside. "Come on," I saw him say, still with that lightness about him like he did this all the time.

I hesitated. No, this was stupid. He was a man I barely knew, it was night, and I had just seen him crawl out of the forest, really not a good idea.

And yet… I was tempted, seriously tempted. Why not? It wasn't like every man was a murderer or rapist. All clues pointed to Seth being a kind man, if a little eccentric, not a serial killer.

And why couldn't I be that girl? The one who sneaks out at night and has adventures. Who said I had to be good all the time? Play it safe. It wasn't like that had gotten me very far.

Besides, I felt a malicious pleasure at the thought that Richard might wake up and see my empty bed. That he would panic, call the police, get the whole town out looking for me.

Was that wrong? Either way I grabbed my coat, shoved on my sneakers, tucked a door key in my pocket and slipped out into the cool night air.

Seth was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. I wrapped my coat tighter against the breeze.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I replied.

"I was worried about you," he told me, all humour gone. "When you didn't show, I was really worried. Could have sent me a message."

I felt chastised and rightly so. Life was all kinds of strange at the moment and I had thought that I wouldn't be missed. "Sorry, I didn't think…"

"Didn't think what?" He encouraged. There was a strain in his voice, he was holding some thing or some feeling back and it was taking effort to do so.

"That you would notice," I admitted, shifting the toe of my shoe against the loose concrete.

An incredibly hot hand reached out to cup my chin and lifted my face up so that I was forced to meet his eyes, to see the concern. "I noticed."

"Sorry."

He sighed and let me go. "It's alright, Annabelle, just would have been nice to get a message letting me know you were ok. I almost called the cops, I looked everywhere, and I got the whole pack searching for you."

Pack? I frowned at the unusual use of the word. Did he have a pack of dogs to track my scent or something?

Seth took a seat on the stairs and ran a hand across his face. "But you're ok and that is all that matters."

I sat next to him, the steps were tight and my thigh was flush against his. I could feel heat flooding through me. In an attempt to distract myself I picked at a loose thread on my coat. "What were you doing out in the forest?"

There was a light chuckle and the tension dissipated. "Running. I like it at night. When I'm on a late shift at the hospital it lets me get everything out of my system before I go home."

He just kept getting stranger. "I thought you were a wild animal. I was going to call the police."

Seth laughed. "They would have got a nasty shock!"

"It's really dangerous to hike through the forest at night!" I insisted because he didn't seem to grasp how crazy it was.

With a shrug he smiled. "It's quieter. Besides, I stick close to the town." Then, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. "Are you worried about me?" I looked away, feeling the blush spreading across my cheeks. "I promise you, Annabelle, I can look after myself."

I snorted. Sure he could. All fights between men without weapons and bears or a pack of wolves or a mountain lion end up with the man unscathed.

"I got you this." He said, pulling a bundle of fabric from his pockets. I took it from him and unwound the soft wool to reveal a long scarf and a pair of mittens. "So you don't get cold. Winter up here can be pretty bitter."

"Thanks." I turned them over in my hands.

"What?"

My eyes widened up at him. "Nothing!"

He frowned, confused, suspicious. "You said blue was your favourite colour…"

"I did." I nodded.

"It's not, is it?" He accused. Paused. "So why'd you say it was?"

The heat flashed through me, and it was all I could do not to cover my face with my hands in embarrassment. "Because I don't know what my favourite colour is."

"You could have just told me that. You didn't have to lie. I wasn't going to hold it against you." He sounded like he was laughing at me.

"I don't know why I do it," I confessed. "I can't help it, I just tell people what I think they want to hear. I do it all the time."

"Maybe you need to practise. How can you get what _you_ want when you don't tell anyone?"

"I guess."

He shifted to face me more, his knee knocking into mine and sending an electric current through my body. "Annabelle, tell me what you're doing right now."

Distracted, I mumbled, "Huh?"

"Right now, what are you doing?" He repeated patiently.

The reiteration made the request no less confusing. "Uh, sitting and talking to you?"

A dark brow quirked up sharply and I saw his eyes glitter. "Are you?"

"What? Seth, you're confusing me." I frowned at him. Did he know what time it was?

Eyebrow dropping, but eyes still alight he explained. "You answered with a question. You asked me if you were sitting and talking to me. If I turned around a said: 'No, actually, Annabelle, you're standing and doing a jig' would you change your mind?"

"No." Of course I wouldn't, I wasn't dense.

"Exactly!" He exclaimed. "So say it like you mean it, like it means something, like your opinion means something."

His intentions started to sink in. I forced myself to look straight at him, to hold his gaze. He didn't intimidate me, and I wasn't afraid of him, I didn't even feel particularly nervous. I was comfortable. So, sounding stronger and surer than I had in months, maybe longer, I said: "I'm sitting and talking to you."

"Better!" Seth grinned. "Now, what is your favourite colour?"

"I don't have one," I said eventually.

Seth laughed. "See, it's pretty easy once you get going."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You take things pretty seriously don't you?" He said, teasing.

For some reason his comment got under my skin. No I didn't take everything seriously, it was just that sometimes it's hard to see the funny side of things. I mean what was remotely amusing about your mother dumping you on the doorstep of the father you have never known, and as a result destroying his family? Nothing. Nothing was funny about that. He didn't even know me! Granted I wasn't the most light-hearted girl in the world but I had a sense of humour.

"Maybe if you said something funny," I suggested, turning away from him and glaring at a red car with rust patches around its wheel arches.

He laughed. I spun around to face him and the joy on his face evaporated. "Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"Whatever," I brushed his excuse aside. Of course he didn't mean to, nobody ever means to, that's the problem. "It's not like we know each other."

"Sure we do!" He contradicted. "I'm Seth Clearwater and you're Annabelle McCoy. I like my coffee with a little milk and no sugar, you like yours milky with three sugars. Neither of us have a favourite colour. You've got green eyes and blonde hair and I've got brown eyes and black hair. I'm a trained nurse and I live in La Push. You're… what? 18?"

"17."

"Right, 17. And still in school?"

"Sure."

"See? What more could you possibly need to know?"

I supposed he was right. There were people you knew for years but never really knew at all, and there were people you knew for minutes but it felt like years. I wasn't sure yet which Seth was to me. Probably somewhere in the middle, because on the one hand I felt like I really did know him, and on the other I felt like I knew nothing at all about him.

A lack of sleep and the strangeness of the past few days were catching up on me and I closed my eyes, lowering my head into my hands.

"You ok?" Seth asked the second my forehead hit the soft wool of the scarf and mittens that I was still holding. "Do you want to go back to bed? It is getting kind of late."

"No," I mumbled, gathering the strength to lift my 10-ton head again. "Can't sleep."

He placed a hot hand on my back. I could feel the heat of it through my coat and pyjamas. I shivered. Without saying a word he rubbed soothing circles across my shoulders and like magic the tension slipped away. I was both as cosy as a cat curled by a fire and uncomfortably aware of every movement he made. I wanted to stay and I wanted to leave.

Seth, perhaps sensing my conflicting thoughts, lifted his hand away and nudged me with his elbow. "I think you should try to get some sleep."

"I can't," I continued to protest.

"Sure you can," he said, "I bet you could do anything if you really wanted to."

* * *

I stood on a beach. No, it wasn't a beach it was the sandy edge of a lake that stretched on into the far distance. The water was glassy and a deep blue, dotted a darker navy by the clouds passing overhead. It was hot like summers back in Nevada and the surrounding crags were burnt orange from the sun, and shrubs struggled through the parched earth.

In the centre of the lake was a small island. There the grass grew thick and green. A great tree stretched up, it's leaves brushing the sky. Pale pink blossoms carried on the water around it like confetti. With the sun directly behind it, light blinding as it glittered from the water, I was reminded of pictures I had seen of Diwali celebrations, thousands of candles lighting the way.

For a long time I just looked at it.

Taking in the beauty, the serenity of the picture I began to feel a desire build up within me. I wanted to be a part of it; I wanted to be on that island, to feel the petals against my skin.

I glanced along the riverside for a boat of some sort but there were none.

I checked to make sure there was no bridge built over to it. There was none.

I had only the clothes on my back. I was not a strong swimmer, not strong enough to reach it without aid.

I began to pace. I needed to be there. I wanted to be there. The desire burned into desperation and I felt myself stretching, straining for some answer.

It was all consuming, rushing through every part of me, from finger to toe. I had to get to the island. If I didn't I would die for certain. Tears of frustration filled up my eyes until I could not see and yet I still longed for it with every ounce of me. I was reaching out blindly. All I had was hope and faith. All I had was myself.

That was it, all I could take. Not knowing where or what I was doing, knowing only that it was better to die trying, I rushed forward to the water's edge.

Need propelled me onto the cool water. As I moved onwards the lake curled around my toes, licked at my ankles, but did not touch my calves.

I was walking on the water's surface as if it was as solid as earth. Down beneath me fishes swam, their colours blurring and swirling into a kaleidoscopic rainbow. Before me the sunlight reflected off of the gentle peaks of water, guiding me forward.

I was nearly there. "How can this be happening," I hushed out, overwhelmed by doubt.

The second the words left my lips the water parted and I plunged into its darkening depths.

With a judder I awoke. I half expected to find myself soaked to the bone. I lay in silence waiting for my breathing to settle and my heartbeat to slow.

When I fell back to sleep I did not dream.

* * *

The motel room was empty when I woke up. Richard's bed was made but he was nowhere to be seen. I didn't want to panic, I didn't want to care, and I didn't want to leap out of bed and check the closet for his bag, or feel the relief when I saw it there still full. His car was gone as well, that wasn't much of a surprise.

So I climbed into the shower determined to enjoy this time alone without him.

I could lie and say that I never wasted a minute of my life thinking about who my father was. Of course I did. I pictured him in my mind as tall and handsome with emerald green eyes and a roughish grin. I imagined he was well-read, funny, liked music and sports. I would fantasise that he was spending every spare moment searching for me, and when he finally found me he would fall back in love with Mom and whisk us away to a big house in a big city. It was the typical stuff kids daydream about when they only know one parent.

Deep down I had little hope that it would ever happen, life was too real and my imaginings were too Disney. That kind of thing was saved for the movies, for fairytale princesses waiting for their prince to ride up on a snowy steed. Princesses never had washing to do, or spilt their drinks, or had bad breath after eating Chinese.

Even so, the reality of both my conception and my father was a difficult thing to take in. It was a soap opera with screaming women and angry men, with tears and hate and jealousy and all those things magnified until you can't remember where it all began or why you feel the way you do. And there wasn't a nice happy ending waiting for us. There might be an ok ending, maybe even a fairly happy one, but it would only be a bridge to the next drama. Because the calm and the storm, that was what real life was all about. The best thing to do was to huddle down in your bunker and wait it out.

* * *

Have you ever gone out for a walk on a quiet day and watched your feet? The pavement blurs out into grey, all the discoloured splotches of gum fade. For some reason you seem to move quicker. Like sitting in a car and watching the road disappear under the wheels, suddenly you're aware of exactly how quickly you're travelling. And it doesn't matter where you're going, just that you're going somewhere.

Emily was in her café when my feet lead me to her door. Behind the counter she stood with her hair long and loose and her battered face bright as she chatted to a customer. I stood watching her ease with life and wondered if it had always been that way for her. The scars hinted at darkness in her past but I couldn't imagine anything wiping that good-natured smile away.

"Are you going in?" A voice behind me asked.

I spun around to face the stranger. "Uh…"

He looked at me impatiently. "Are you going inside?" he repeated like I was an imbecile.

"Uh, you," I stepped back from the doorway, "you can go first."

I followed in after him, flustered. Emily noticed me immediately, waving with a cheery "Hey Annabelle!"

"Hey."

"You decided yet?" She asked.

"Uh, just an orange juice, please."

Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. "About whether you can come work for me?"

"Oh," I said, realising my mistake, "sorry, I don't know. Things are a bit… complicated."

"Sure," she replied easily, "I'll get you that juice."

The place was half empty. The guy from outside had gone to sit with a girl in one of the corners, and there were only a handful of other customers dotted about the room. One, over by the window, made my heart drop to my stomach and my head spin. I reached out for the counter to steady myself as I recognised the messy brown hair and green eyes of Richard's son, Callum.

"Are you alright?" Emily asked, putting my drink down next to me. "Do you want to sit out back for a minute? You look like you're going to faint."

"I'm fine," I hurried to assure, turning away before he saw me. Maybe he wouldn't remember me.

"You know, Annabelle," Emily said as I handed over the money, "Life is always complicated." I stared at her. I knew that better than anyone. "And I don't mean to stick my nose in where it's not wanted but… if you're waiting for it to become straightforward you're going to be waiting for a very long time."

"Ok," I answered not really knowing what else to say. Avoiding his side of the café I took my drink over to the furthest corner. There was a shiny green ficus sat in a big red pot next to me. Maybe it was a little childish or like some cheesy movie but I scraped my chair around so that I was hidden behind its broad leaves. Doing my best (and with all the practise I'd had I was a pro) to disappear as I sipped at my juice.

Hide and seek.

"Hello."

I jumped; a splotch of orange liquid escaped the glass and hit the tabletop. _Found You!_ "H… Hey," I said. I glanced up briefly to make sure it was who I feared it was and then fixed my stare on the spill. It looked like a face.

"Do you mind if I…" he gestured to the empty chair opposite.

"No, no, no," I stammered. I felt panic rising in me. Was I about to be confronted, here, publicly? Would he shout? Make a scene? I just wanted a juice.

He took the seat and let out a long sigh. "I, uh, don't mean to pressure you or anything. I just wanted a chat if that's all right?"

"Yeah, ok, I mean whatever." It was like being in an interrogation room, light blinding me. At least that was the way my body was reacting to it. I could feel the dampness growing under my arms.

"I'm Callum," he said, his voice was calming, but I wasn't calmed. "We didn't get to meet the other night what with all the…" he trailed off.

"Screaming?" I filled in for him.

"Yeah," he agreed ruefully, "there was a lot of that."

"I'm Annabelle."

"How are you doing?"

The shock of the question caused my head to jerk up. "Pardon?"

He chuckled. "I asked how you are doing."

"Me?" I couldn't quite believe it. "I'm fine."

Callum's expression made it clear that I hadn't fooled him. "It's going to take some time to adjust to this. How is he?"

It was tempting to lie, maybe that was what Callum wanted. It was what I would want in his position. Instead I told him the truth, he had a right to know, and I had no right to keep it from him. "Not good."

Callum took this in for a moment, nodding his head as if it was what he had been expecting. "Mom neither. I'm taking some time off to keep an eye of her."

This wasn't something I could comment on. There was nothing to say, I just sat there letting the guilt swell up inside.

"He is not a bad person," Callum said, leaning forward slightly. "You know how some people are just natural musicians, born to do it. I think some people are great parents and partners, and some people aren't. It's always been like that with Dad; he can't seem to help himself from messing up."

Some musicians practise every hour of every day to become brilliant. Some people practise every hour of every day to be good parents. Not that I had any idea what those people were like. "He really misses you. He loves you all so much."

"Yeah," Callum agreed, "he does. But you know, that's not always enough to stop him hurting us."

I couldn't stop it from coming out. "I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry?" he frowned. "What have you got to be sorry about?"

"That we came here, that we ruined your lives. All this mess, its our fault."

"No one blames you," he stressed, looking genuinely concerned. "This mess was not created by you. And it can't be fixed by you either."

"I'm still sorry," I whispered.

"Me too." Our matching eyes meeting in a shared moment.

Suddenly Emily was standing beside us. She coughed politely, clearly realising that she'd interrupted a moment. "Here's your money Callum," she said handing over an envelope.

"Right!" Callum smiled, "Thank you. I'm going to be around for a bit so I'll probably be by before Christmas with some more pictures. That ok?"

"Of course. Can I get either of you anything?"

"No thanks," He answered, pocketing the envelope.

I shook my head.

"Alright then." Emily stood looking uncomfortable until a lady on another table called her over. "See you."

Callum turned back to me. "So, I guess all this makes us siblings then?"


End file.
